


i'm ready to be torn apart

by venomedveins



Series: of magic & monsters [15]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Assault, Battle, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Multi, Vampire Biting, Vampires, Violence, graphic blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9027763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: Caesar has kidnapped Nasir and the vampire's plan is now fully in motion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long time coming. I know you all have been so patient and thank you for that. We only have one last chapter after this one before this fic is done. I can't even begin to express how amazing this journey has been and how wonderful you all are.

Cold air billows against the heavy velvet walls of the tent, the crimson and gold pattern faded and worn. Nasir can see a thin line of indigo sky from where the fabric kisses the ground. Night has fallen again or perhaps the vampires have found a place of eternal darkness for them to sit and wait. From where he's lying, he can feel the rough press of frozen dirt to his cheek, the chaffing of thick rope around his wrists. He tries to focus on that and not the twist of acidity and heat within his stomach begging him to lurch, the snarling vacancy of his magic, and the knowledge of what that could mean. There is a throbbing pain bouncing between his temples; the press of it making his vision blur. 

Curling his hands down against the ground, Nasir tries to control his breathing, to remember what Naevia and Spartacus had tried to teach him. He goes through the list, checks through his body. His hands are tied together, the knot latched to another lead hooked onto the center beam of the tent. There is a cut on his cheek, another on his lip. He's lost his robe somehow, the waist band of his pants rolled tightly across his hips. He can feel that there is a wound at his neck, something burning hot in his chest that makes him shiver. He won't let himself stay like this though, prone half on his stomach and half on his side, sniffling into the dirt.

Taking a deep breath, Nasir wiggles until he can get his knees under him, forcing himself upright. He can't see anything around him, the walls of the tent, a lantern by the wall, and then pitch black. The world outside is not forgotten though, the loud stomps of feet dashing by, laughter, someone shouting. It sounds so barbaric here, unfamiliarly animalistic with the chattering of too sharp teeth and the scent of blood on the air. 

Nasir aches to roll his shoulders, a deep bruise on his spine twinging every time he takes a breath. There is a creeping panic just at the base of his sternum, a tightening of a clamp on his lungs as he tries to fight the urge to cry. He tries to channel that, put power and energy into trying to stay calm – a king even in chains. Agron wouldn't cry in this situation, wouldn't let fear swallow him whole. He'd be trying to figure out a way to escape, but Nasir is not Agron. And all he can see when he closes his eyes is Malik's terrified face, Ashur's grinning one.

It’s the pain that snaps him into action, the deep betrayal of Ashur’s hatred. It burns on the base of his tongue, a flame that swallows his throat. After it all, after the thousands of times Nasir begged for Agron to overlook Ashur’s harsh edges, Crixus to lower his sword, Spartacus to turn a blind eye. Nasir had kicked Pietros from his perch. Had put everyone in danger just for the sake of shared blood. And yet here he is, stranded and kidnapped, stripped of everyone and everything that matters. 

The fluttering of the tent door yanks Nasir from his thoughts, a flash of red flames sparkling out in the darkness. Long shadows spin around it, a dance of some sort, a grotesque caricature of a party as laughter and shouting seeps in. Nasir can’t see who comes into the tent, can feel their fingers on his face, his neck, as they work to untie the rope around him. It smells like blood, like sweat, and Nasir nearly screams when a tongue traces along his neck as he is dragged to his feet. 

“Wake up, wolfling.” A woman’s voice hisses, her fingers in Nasir’s long hair, yanking his head back.

“What are you doing?” Nasir prides himself that his voice does not waver, nearly blind as the tent once more plunges into darkness. He tries to wiggle away from the vampires’ grasps but they latch onto him, holding him upright as they move around.

“Don’t be difficult.” The women croons, lapping at Nasir’s cheek again as another vampire moves to tie his hands in front of him. “The prince has been waiting so long to see you.”

Pain rips through Nasir’s skull as he finally manages to rip away from the woman, fighting against the pair as they shuffle him around, bringing his hands together again. Undeterred, the vampires wrap their arms around Nasir, slamming him hard against the pole once more. It knocks some of the air out of his lungs, chest burning, as the woman wraps a cold hand around his throat. 

“You fighting is only going to make this more painful.”

“Are you going to scream for us?” The man’s brown hair hides his face as he crouches in front of Nasir, hands moving from Nasir’s wrists to his waist where some blood has dried. “I love it when they scream.” 

“Don’t touch him!” The woman hisses, her long dark hair curled in intricate waves. “Caesar will have your head if we damage him anymore.”

“A little taste won’t hurt.” Warm breath ghosts over Nasir’s neck, the press of fangs against his pounding throat, before they’re suddenly ripped away. 

“Caesar gets first taste! You know that!” The woman grips Nasir’s leash in her hand, tugging him half a step forward. “Come on. He won’t like being kept waiting.”

There is too much to take in, too much that Nasir wants to forget the moment he sees it. Vampires are sprawled around a roaring fire, some twisting and writhing in some chaotic dance that presses them together. A violin crashes through shredded notes, a sitar singing along. The sound echoes around the cave they’re in, bouncing off the high walls and making the bats stir.

Throughout, pale faced men and women move around – necks already bared and bloody. They’re naked, a dozen teeth prints all over them. Unflinching and sure, they don’t pull away when they’re dragged down, fed upon and released back into the crowd. Pitchers of it flow onto the ground, dumped from amphora onto the waiting mouths of the creatures, a river of blood to coat skin and throats. All Nasir can see is red – the thrumming, pulsating grinding of bodies over flowing in crimson. 

His guards move Nasir through it, drag him by the leash attached to his wrists. Eyes follow him, glowing and tracing over his body – the skin on display, the crusted carnage of his wounds. Someone is screaming, twisting hands and begging for life. Nasir can't see them, but the sound vibrates through him, makes him stumble on a loose piece of ground. It catches the attention of the vampires nearby, turning to call out to him. They won't approach, won't cross the line when they know that Nasir now belongs to their prince. They're not so reserved to not speak though, slurring words and insults.

_Wolf Whore!_

The vampires chant it, crawling over one another to press closer to Nasir – fangs and glowing eyes. Nothing compares to the horror of their appearance – monsters so profoundly grotesque it is incomparable to any other. They want to see him, mouths open as if they can taste the very air that Nasir passes by, tongues flickering. And with the crowd pressing close, the guards slow down, putting Nasir on display. 

It takes all of his strength, his control, his courage for Nasir to lift his head, squaring his shoulders. He will not let them see him curl under the insult, the horror bubbling in his throat, the growling and gnawing fear that seems to burn along every single one of his nerves. Nasir remembers that time so long ago when he had spit in Sedullus’ face, standing up to Gerulf – screaming at him not to send Agron to his death. The fire that had inspired and ensnared a nation to trust him, to believe in him enough to support Agron’s choice in consort. Nasir cannot feel his magic, cannot pull strength from it, and yet the flames of it – the rage and heat – fill him as he’s yanked through the crowd. 

The inside of this tent is brightly lit though fashioned much the same – empty except for a few lavish pillows thrown around the carpeted floor. Nasir is quickly tied to the single pole in the center, the guards – now clearly seen as one man and a woman – gnashing their fangs at him before retreating. The fabric of the tent is thicker here, the sounds from outside muted. Still, Nasir can feel the shift in the air when the vampire enters behind him, silent and not breathing. 

“I half expected you to be some titan with the way people spoke of you.” The voice is soft, calm with a hint of a smirk laced between the words. “I suppose I should have known Agron’s taste would only allow for someone softer – pretty.”

Nasir tries not to flinch, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop his breathing until he can calm his frantically beating heart. Instincts tell him to run, to fill his hands with magic and fire and retreat as far as possible from this monster. There is nothing though when he tries to reach out, begs every god and goddess he can name for some sort of magic, for a hint of light in the dark, but there is nothing. He is powerless, holding himself still as Caesar stalks around him.

"Agron always seemed like the man to favor trinkets, little embellishments to fill his rooms and now, I suppose, his bed as well." Caesar comes to stand before Nasir, calmly letting his crimson gaze slide over Nasir's half naked body. “He has grown well into himself. You must be something else, Nasir of Pythonissa, to succeed where others have failed.”

"Do not speak of him as if you know him. Do not even say his name." Nasir snarls, glare unwavering as he meets Caesar. The affect is slightly lessened with Nasir's arms tied to a lead in around a pole.

Stepping forward, Caesar grins as he strokes a finger along Nasir's bicep, nail just hinging on sharp. He stops when he gets to Nasir's elbow, reaching back to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear in a move that is entirely gentle. It makes Nasir shudder, feeling the movement but no breath - Caesar not needing to. It only seems to highlight the different between them, Nasir’s labored breathing 

"Don't I though? Did he not tell you of our engagement? Our _courtship_ ," Caesar asks, the tip of his nose brushing Nasir's earlobe. "I know all sorts of parts of him. I imagine he still thinks about it too, about what it felt like to be under me."

"Implanting your teeth into a man over three hundred years younger than you is not some long lost romance story," Nasir yanks his head back, spitting in Caesar's face. The spittle lands on his cheek, dribbling down to his jaw. "It's disgusting."

Caesar's grin is feral as he wipes the spittle from his face, tsking quietly. "And here you were described as being a little king."

"Not so small and weak." Nasir cannot stop the words from slipping between his teeth. Hatred seems to smother him whole. "You had my brother poison me and take away my magic for a reason."

Caesar's mouth lifts on one side, a huff of air exhaling between his too sharp teeth. He looks impressed, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "A safety precaution for the time being. I assure you, I am still very much in need of it."

Nasir sucks in a sharp breath, eyes narrowing as the fear inside of him slowly begins to churn warmer - fury mounting. He had feared this, had not understood why Caesar would have taken him. If Agron had spoken was true, then he had come for Malik - for the prophesized warrior. This truth is much worse, a settling in the pit of Nasir's stomach. He has to swallow back the bile, the heat of it burning his throat.

"If you hope to impregnate me so I can give you some magical heir, you are wrong. Magic doesn't work like that. It is not just something you can bend to your will - command it to give without offering it anything in return. Mine will not allow you to use it that way. I _will not_ allow you to use me that way."

The laugh that Caesar expels is loud and sharp - a sound that seems to bounce off the ceiling of the tent. Inside, the party is dulled to a mere murmur - a forgotten hum in comparison to Caesar's sharp grin. His blond hair glints in the candle light - a distorted image of so much gold in such a dark place. 

"Did you think I led an army of thousands against one of the most powerful nations in the world because I wanted a child?" Caesar shakes his head, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “I have bigger ambitions than your princeling.”

"Then what?" Nasir's voice shifts, rage and frantic as he leans forward, glaring at Caesar. "What do you want? Why am I even here? So you can torture me until I agree to help you take over the world? I won’t do it."

“You speak as if you think I took you because you were the prize I was after," Caesar's laugh this time in sharp - a bitter clap of sound the cuts straight through Nasir. "You are nothing more than the baggage. The tool that I will use later in order to achieve my goals."

Caesar leans in, the soft inside of his bottom lip dragging along Nasir's earlobe. "You are the bait for the wolf. He won't come when I call, but he will come when you do."

"Now, tell me," Caesar brushes his fingers through Nasir's hair again, "what is it like to be his? To be the one that he desires most in the world?"

"What?" Nasir scoffs, twisting his neck painfully to look at Caesar. He cannot believe this.

"I am not so disconnected to the world of the living to not recognize the scent all over you. You reek of sweat, of heat, of his seed. You gave him his son." Caesar's gaze meets Nasir’s boldly, unflinching. "I want to know what it's like when he's inside of you."

Nasir chokes on a laugh, bewilderment descending upon him like a foggy haze. This must be some form of a cruel joke. "You killed hundreds of my people, tried to rip my son from my arms, poisoned and kidnapped me to talk about boys? As if this is some sleep over and we are friends?"

"You have had him. I have not." Caesar states matter-of-factly. "Not yet. I want to know, to feel what you felt."

"I'm not telling you how Agron and I fuck," Nasir snarls, pulling against his restraints. 

Caesar takes a deep breath, patience wearing thin as Nasir continues to snarl at him. Reaching forward, Caesar wraps one large hand around Nasir's neck, using his thumb to tilt Nasir's head to the side. It exposes Nasir's neck, the long tendons and jugular, smooth tan skin already speckled with small bruises. Caesar strokes over them almost lovingly, gentle in his caress as Nasir struggles to get away - bond and tied to the pole before him. He knows what they are, who pressed their lips and teeth to Nasir’s skin to bring such color. Caesar wonders what else Agron’s mouth does, where it lingers, how it looks when he’s reaching his completion.

"Did you know that your blood is not only the source of life," Caesar whispers, transfixed where Nasir's pulse beats wildly, "It contains the past, your memories, every time your body thrums like this."

“Leave me alone.” Nasir cannot struggle enough to get free, staring up at Caesar in horror.

“I wonder if he can sense it on you,” Caesar drags his fingernail down Nasir’s vein, “when your heart beats wildly like this, the sweat on your skin, does Agron’s mouth taste what I am about to?”

Caesar's fangs sink into the soft flesh and Nasir gasps, eyes rolling back in his head. Pain erupts across his nerves, a shock of power that twists uncontrollable as Nasir's body attempts to recoil from the venom. It's incomparable as within one breath and another, a new feeling slides down Nasir's throat - burns warm and jaded in the pit of his stomach. Goosebumps break out over his skin as the pleasure washes over Nasir, fingers curling around the ropes that bind him, choking on a half aborted moan. 

It's not his magic that floods his mind, but sick sort of venom that pulls the images out of some dark corner. Reliving every moment that Agron's hands have been on him. Nasir can feel the lick of flames against his back when he had danced for Agron the first time, slid into his lap and felt, for the first time, Agron's hands on his waist, his thighs. The frenzy of their first time, the flowers bursting above them, Agron's body holding him down. Gold dripping from Nasir's lips, smearing on Agron's chest when they had rolled together before the fire, Agron's eyes glowing in the light, fangs sharp against Nasir's thighs. Leaves in Nasir's hair, Agron's back smeared in mud, writhing together in an open tent, all of Alptra around them. Moonlight shattered over the throne, Nasir's open mouth panting against Agron's, slick skin. That last time with Agron's body a heavy weight against Nasir's, his hands in Nasir's, his mouth a warm press to Nasir's neck, holding onto each other as if they had known danger loomed before them.

“No! Stop!”

Nasir wrenches back, head smacking painfully into the pole behind him as he falls. Caesar’s luminescent eyes gleam close to Nasir's face, blood dripping from his chest as he snaps his teeth, snarling loudly. Nasir is no stranger to growling creatures though, unflinching and furious. He may not have his magic, but he hisses back, pulling hard enough against his restraints that he can feel the bruises forming. He doesn’t fucking care. The pain of the memories coupled with the betrayal of his body shimmering in pleasure is enough for Nasir to be sick, stomach clenching hard as he tries to calm his nerves. 

“You tread a very dangerous line.” Caesar’s lip stays curled, words clenched through sharp teeth. “You will give me what I want.”

“Don’t fucking touch me again.” Nasir spits, pressing himself as firmly as he can to the pole behind him, recoiling as much as his bonds will allow. He doesn’t want to be any closer to this monster than he needs to be. “You’re fucking disgusting. He will never want you. He hates you, even the sound of your name is sickening.”

Surging forward, Caesar grips Nasir’s face, squeezing his fingers until they dent Nasir’s cheeks. He leans in then, close enough that his nose nearly brushes Nasir’s. Up close like this, Nasir can barely make out the scattering of blue in Caesar’s eyes around the pupil, heart rabbit fast as he feels Caesar’s cold skin against his. 

“The only reason you still breathe is that I need you to give me my army. Agron is mine, has always been, and will soon take his rightful place at my side and in my bed and you will be reduced to the vessel that you are.” Caesar’s voice is a vicious snarl again. “So, if I want to touch you or drink from you or kill you, I will.”

Nasir’s nose wrinkles sharply as he grits his teeth, leaning into the touch only to snap the words into Caesar’s face. “You think Agron will bow to you? Worship you because you want him to? You do not know him.”

“I do know him, enough to know what will call to him.” Caesar shakes his head slightly, all wild eyes and fangs. “You only need to pry on the weakness of a man to give him to bend his knee. You and your fucking magic make him weak.”

“I’ll never give you children,” Nasir barely resists the urge to spit again in Caesar’s face again. “I’d rather cut the womb from within me than let you ever use it.”

“You do it to yourself.” Caesar draws away then, smirk once more sliding into place on his smooth face. “I only need to stand back and watch it happen.”

“He won’t come for me. He won’t sacrifice Malik. We made a vow to put him before us,” Nasir shakes his head, “And you will have done all of this for nothing.”

“And what about his other son?” Caesar raises an eyebrow, turning back to look at Nasir. “Will he come then?”

"His other-"

Nasir falters, the words bottled up inside of him suddenly lost as he recoils back, body curling in on itself. No one was supposed to know yet. Nasir had barely suspected, just a tingle at his navel for the past few weeks, a nagging though ever since they had stumbled back from the throne room together, pressed tight and delirious. Nasir had woken to a warm pain in his stomach, but had been too caught up with other things to take it seriously. Suddenly, he wishes he hadn't spit back at Caesar. He wishes he had kept his mouth shut, silent and deadly, waiting for his opportunity to strike. 

"Blood doesn't lie." Caesar drags his thumb along his bottom lip, lapping away the stray crimson there. “I tasted his heart beat. He won’t be the titan his brother is, but he will do well in my army.”

"Agron won't come for me." Nasir whispers, lowering his eyes to the floor. Maybe if he repeats the words over and over again, he will convince himself that it’s true. "He won't."

Caesar studies him for a moment, eyes narrowing as a grin slowly appears on his face. The way Nasir is standing gives it away, curled up as much as his bound hands will allow, attempting to glare into the floor before his expression gives him away. Caesar can see the vulnerable tilt of his mouth, the glaring lines of his brow as he tries to stop trembling. He doesn't approach Nasir again, but it still feels like a slap when he speaks again. 

"He doesn't know, does he?" Caesar's voice is gentle almost, even if his face is mocking. "You never told Agron you are pregnant?"

"Shut up." Nasir closes his eyes, feels the rising urge to puke sliding up his throat. 

"Oh Nasir," Caesar coos, shaking his head. “That’s just heartbreaking, really.”

Nasir flinches, attempting to block the tears that threaten at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this, won’t show this monster the way the words cut through him. There were plans in place, but Agron had been so distracted lately. The games were time consuming, delegates and kings coming to call and give gifts to the newborn heir, Agron was meant to perform as king and leader. Nasir knew things were stressful, even after their night on the throne, he had known something was changing in him. He just hadn’t found the right moment to tell Agron what he thought was going on. 

“Don’t worry.” Caesar grips the door of the tent. “Fathers will be reunited soon.”

\- - - 

 

Another crash echoes through the consort's wing interlaced with a scream, the end tampering off into a growl. A symphony of swearing follows, more furniture being tossed around and someone shouting. The few guards and maids that linger in the hall flinch every time another sound echoes out of Nasir’s bedroom, recoiling against the far wall. Diona and Bagoas are curled against a tapestry, still gaunt and glassy eyed from the guards earlier removing Chadara’s body from before the door. It seems that in the vampires’ retreat, they only left chaos and more destruction. 

Charging across the bedroom, Agron roughly unlatches a large truck, throwing the lid back with a crash. He does it with enough force the lid slams into the wall, a few pieces of white stone chipping off and scattering. He does not care. Nasir’s scent mixed with blood and agony fill these rooms, the lingering aroma of panic that Agron can almost taste on his tongue. He has never felt more sick, searching blindly in the depths of the container for more armor. 

Through his tears, something else catches Agron’s eye, huddled on the floor under an over turned chair. It’s a blanket, soft and pale yellow, a ring of stars and daffodils embroidered to circle around the already stitched image of a snake and wolf entwined – two glowing stars between them. He doesn’t know what it means, fingers curling in the soft fabric, holding it in a tight grip when he notices another item just below the fabric. 

A gold chain broken, snapped and tangled in the plush carpet. It looks as if it were yanked, the gold smeared down one side in blood and onto the snarling chain. Agron stoops to grab it, tossing the blanket away from him as he fingers the small jewelry. The wolf’s face is covered in red, dangling from the end and rocking back and forth. Agron remembers Nasir’s scratched stomach, the evidence of Nasir crawling over glass. Had he lost it when he tried to escape Ashur’s betrayal? Or when he had dragged himself to Malik, attempting to protect the lost babe?

How long had he stood beside Nasir as he was trained to be a royal, to walk like a king, talk like a king, greet guests and sit beside Agron as his consort – first and only. Agron had helped where he could, given council and explained the finer details of court. But Nasir had excelled at everything. He danced like an Alptraum. He sat proper and poised in perfect etiquette through courts and countless banquet. And yet, for what? No matter what Agron had prepared him for, even the battle training, had not saved Nasir from this. 

Agron does not think he will ever forget it, will never be able to wipe the sound of Nasir’s voice on the balcony, the scream as the shadow enveloped him. Agron had been so close, had nearly been able to reach and grab him, and yet he couldn’t. Ripped from the very tips of Agron’s fingers to be thrown to the dirt as if some animal. No, Agron’s tears turn deadly, rage coming on full force as he tosses the blanket on the bed, letting out another roar. 

“Agron,” Crixus greets from the doorway, voice gruff and cutting through the chaos of the room; Naevia lingers behind in full armor. “The horses are ready. We leave on your command.”

Turning to them, Agron can barely speak around his fangs, lingering too close to wolf than man now, eyes glowing neon green, “Now. We cannot wait any longer. I want him dead. I want to feel the way his bones crack under my hands as I snap his neck. I want to watch Caesar suffer over and over again for what he’s done.”

“There is a path outside of the city that some guards say appears well used,” Naevia places a hand on Crixus’ shoulder, “We can begin there and move north. Then east if need be.”

“There is no time for second guessing ourselves.” Agron spit, fingers fumbling over the latches on his armor. “He has Nas-“ Agron swallows, cursing the way his voice breaks on his name. “We don’t have time.”

“Agron,” Naevia says gently, stepping around her husband to enter the room. She doesn’t let her eyes linger on the scattered furniture, the clothes and trinkets thrown around on the floor, but instead goes to the man himself, laying a hand softly on his shoulder. “We will find him and get him back.”

“There is no other option,” Agron mutters, allowing Naevia to take over when he fails again to properly attach a guard to his chest plate. “I can’t- I’ll never-“ Agron doesn’t meet her eyes, but instead stars hard at her collarbones. “I can still hear him screaming. Inside my head.”

“You could not have saved him then, Agron. We were unprepared, ambushed in the night. Betrayed by those that swore loyalty to you,” Naevia reaches up when she’s finished with the armor, holding the side of Agron’s face in her small palm, “We will find Nasir though and you will have him back in your arms.”

“Caesar may have flown on the back of that beast, but he still has an army to command.” Crixus reasons, adjusting his own armbands as he watches Agron. “He can’t have gotten that far.”

“A step outside of my fucking sight is too far.” 

Agron buckles one last knife to his side, securing it in place. The way he’s armored himself is more for speed than actual cover, instead piling on weapons in careful placements – easy to reach and deadly in any hold. There is no saying what will happen in battle, but Agron wants to be prepared. Even if it means pushing a knife into Nasir’s hand and telling him to run. Agron will not rest, will not settle, until Nasir is far away from those monsters. Nodding once at Crixus and then Naevia, Agron is just about to lead them out, intent to kill, when Auctus and Barca slam through the front door. They are followed closely by Tove and Saxa, both of them covered in blood. 

“Our father is dead.” Saxa begins, a strand of her wild hair stuck to her neck with the carnage, “I take his place as next to lead the hunting packs in the north.”

“May he rest within the heavens,” Agron mutters, tapping his fingers to his forehead in a gentle salute to his fallen uncle. “Someone needs to tell Völva.”

“Where are you going?” Tove asks abruptly, turning his attention from the fully armored trio to the head guards nearby, them too toting heavy weaponry. 

“A guard noticed tracks in the snow towards the North leading us to believe that Caesar and his inner circle are not sleeping with their troops. We will follow them and see if they lead to where the vampires are making camp.” Crixus replies from Agron’s right, fingers loosely wrapped around the hilt of his sword. 

“You can’t just leave!” Tove’s voice breaks as he steps closer, defensive and sharp as he looks between the three, “Are you fucking insane? The kingdom is in shambles. There are corpses all over the streets. Half our court has fled or have been murdered. The kingdom needs their king.”

“We cannot waste any more time.” Agron snarls, shoulders rolled back in defense. “I will not stand by while that monster tortures my husband.”

Agron turns sharply, leading the trio forward again by stepping around the siblings, when Tove suddenly shoves his hand into Agron's shoulder, shoving him back. He snarls in Agron's face, eyes an eerie blue as his fangs descend, arm raised again for an attack. Agron doesn't need the prompting though, growling deep within his chest as he squares up against Tove. They are nearly the same height, though Agron's higher status and the coursing of magic has made him bigger, stronger in the arms and back. He's just about to deliver the first blow of a fight that will only end in more blood when Naevia suddenly reaches out, hooking her long fingers in one of the straps of Agron's chest piece. Standing on her toes, she mutters something sharp and pointed into his ear, and Agron stills. 

"I do not have fucking time to put you in your place." Agron scowls, straightening himself as he draws in a breath, using all of his strength to step back. "We leave now. I expect you and Saxa and the guards to be able to handle the kingdom in my stead."

“What about Duro? No one has been able to find him. He was already injured when the vampires came.” Tove lifts his hands in disgust, voice raising into a shout. “And Pietros? Do you even fucking care about him?”

“Barca and I have a whole section of the guard scouring the castle for Duro and Pietros. We have reason to believe they tried to join the fight,” Auctus interjects, tense and looming to the side. “We will find both of them. That is our charge.”

“I trust Barca and Auctus to find Du-“ Agron attempts to stay calm, halted by his cousin’s continuing rant. 

“And Malik? Who will find him? We don’t fucking know where he is either! Do you even fucking care?” 

Blood spews from Tove’s mouth as Agron’s fist connects with it, spraying across the tapestry nearby to stain the gray trees red. There is no calming hand from Naevia, no words of wisdom from Crixus. Instead, Agron slams Tove’s back against the wall, fingers wrapped tightly around his throat as chips of alabaster fall around them. Burning rage shimmers deep in Agron’s chest, scalding down into his stomach at the mention of his son’s name. He does not show mercy in the violence, but instead leans in, growling the words in a voice not completely his own. 

“Do not fucking raise voice to me as if I am not already aware what is at stake. Somewhere, my four-month-old son is without his parents. My brother is lost. My husband taken by the worst creature on this earth. I will not rest until I have all three of them.”

Agron squeezes tighter, eyes blazing green and neons. 

“Question my loyalty again and I will show you how you have lost mine.”

Wrenching away, Agron growls, once more heading from the bedroom and across the main room of Nasir’s suite. Everywhere feels like him, spewed in blood and pain. There is a half-eaten plate of fruit on a side table, tipped over cups of wine on the floor. The fire has gone out, the looming moon from outside giving away to dawn. Everything seems like chaos – the remnants of the worst night of their lives. Agron is nearly to the front door, squaring his shoulders in an attempt to ready himself to the onslaught of horror outside, when through the walls he catches the faintest sound. There - faintly and growing stronger - comes the sound of a baby crying. 

Naevia’s gasp is half lost as the bedroom doors open behind the trio, the cries getting louder. 

“Agron.” 

Pietros’ voice wavers, pausing in the center of the room, arms wrapped around a squirming and crying Malik. 

Agron turns instantly, rage forgotten as the smell of blood washes over him – Nasir’s – and his son takes on a desperate sort of scream. Behind Pietros, Duro leans heavily on Auctus and Barca, pale and blue lipped but still whole. It is what comes out of the room behind him that gives Agron pause. Apep’s head nearly brushes a lamp as he steps close to Pietros, huge black eyes unblinking as he pauses in soldier’s position, legs and shoulders straight, spear clutched in his right hand. 

“Agron, where’s Nasir?” Pietros is looking around now, eyes getting huge as he takes in the broken furniture, the ruined carpet. There is a line of crystals torn from the ceiling, their cording frayed and knotted near the far wall, blood on the amethyst. 

“Pietros,” Barca murmurs, trying to gently distract him, but it is to no avail. 

Pietros’ dark eyes move from the overturned couch, snapping back to the king. “Where is he? Where is my brother?”

“Caesar took him.” The weight of the words still press heavy and unyielding against Agron’s chest. 

Recoiling as if he can avoid the words, Pietros begins to slowly shake his head. “No. You got to him. You saved him. Where is he? Where is Nasir?”

“There was nothing I could do. I tried. I reached for him but-“ Agron stammers over the words, watching as Pietros begins to cry, shaking his head.

“No. No, you were supposed to protect him,” Pietros chokes, betrayed. “You were supposed to get here in time.”

“I tried. I am going to get him back.”

Pietros begins to crumple, curling in on himself, and Agron acts fast, stepping forward to gently take Malik as Barca catches Pietros. The baby’s scream warbles a little when he spots Agron, still crying loudly and shaking his whole body in protest. Agron grabs a miraculously clean blanket from a settee nearby, wrapping the babe up in the soft fur as he begins to bounce slightly. He hushes him gently, kissing Malik’s reddened face, his waving hands. It helps, Malik settling down, until he lets out a high pitched whine , craning his neck to see. 

“It’s okay, little man.” Agron murmurs, kissing Malik’s temple. “He’s gone but your daddy is going to get him back. I promise.”

There is no soothing this away now as Malik makes the noise again, calling over and over for Nasir. Any other time, his baba would have arrived already, all gentle smiles and soft kisses. It is clear that Malik is hungry and tired, squirming against Agron’s chest and then rubbing his face when he can’t find what he wants. Agron does what he can, instructing Naevia to get him a bottle from the side board and placing it near a candle to warm. It seems the room falls into their own silent mourning and fear as Agron works to care for his son, testing the milk against his wrist before giving it to Malik. He doesn’t completely stop crying, but he does settle more, allowing Agron to brush his thumb across Malik’s plump cheeks and wipe the tears away. 

“What is your plan? Do you know where Caesar went?” Pietros’ broken voice croaks, leaning heavily into Barca. 

“We have a plan and a good chance of finding him,” Naevia reassures, gently rubbing Pietros’ shoulder, “Caesar can’t have just made his army disappear. They would have to walk somewhere.”

“And find shelter from the sun.” Crixus adds, nodding to agree with his wife.

“Will he-“ Pietros freezes, the words caught in his throat as he stares at Agron. “Will he hurt Nasir?”

“Yes.” Agron doesn’t try to lie, adjusting Malik tighter in his arms. “Caesar will torture Nasir.”

“Nasir is strong though. I’m sure he’ll be fighting Caesar every bit of the way,” Duro murmurs weakly, a deep purple bruise settling in under his eyes. “He won’t go down easy.”

“We don’t know what he’s doing though.” Pietros doesn’t stop staring at Agron. “Or how bad it will get.”

“I’m not going to let him get away with it.” Agron announces, more a decree. “I’m going to go and get Nasir back and then I’m going to make those fucking leeches pay in their own blood.”

“It should have been you.” Tove interjects around a mouthful of blood, a towel pressed to his chin to catch it. “Caesar should have just come for you.”

“I know.” 

Agron glances up, large hand caressing the soft hairs on Malik’s head. Pietros meets his gaze, looking small and fearful against his fiancé, but pained under the admission. It’s a look that is mirrored in other faces as well, the hesitation of what a battle like this will mean. Agron cannot help but be bitter about it all. He had though for so long that they were safe, that no one would touch them for many years, and yet here he stands with his life in shambles. Guilt lays heavy on his shoulders and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness. He does not truly know where Caesar is, and the uncertainty of Nasir’s safety is a horror Agron will not allow himself to dwell on. 

“You cut a terrifying image, majesty.” 

From the outside door, Spartacus and then Mira steps, both of them appearing exhausted and but no more worse for wear. Mira does sport dark bruises under her eyes, exhaustion and the swaying of a body pushed to the brink. Her voice cracks as she finishes her statements, a ghost of a grin not yet meeting her eyes. 

"Standing there in your best armor, a legion of weapons strapped to your side, and the most dangerous creature on this earth wrapped tightly in your arms, feeding from a bottle."

"Not so dangerous now," Agron gently brushes a curl from Malik's forehead. “Though one day, I fear even I shall tremble before him.”

“After the horrors we have faced,” Duro speaks up, voice rough and faint, “I think it will be our enemies that shall shake in fear if he learns to hiss like his father.”

“If Nasir lives to teach him that.” Tove mutters darkly, brow furrowed as he glares at Agron. “If any of us do.”

“Hold fucking tongue.” Spartacus steps around Mira, coming to linger before Agron. “Come, let us fall away from this room and set plan on how to retrieve Nasir from Caesar’s clutches.”

Agron nods once, a jerking of his head that hides the way his eyes glisten. They are angry tears, bitter and desperate as he stands in the middle of what feels like a scene from a nightmare. He burns to leave, to run himself ragged in the ice and snow of the mountains, to find and take Nasir back, to make sure he is safe. He does not know why he is still stuck in this fucking room when every moment he is means another moment of Caesar’s torture.

“Take Malik to Melitta. She will care for him and Yasmina while we are away.”

“Yes, highness.”

Moving across the room on shuffling feet, Mira stands on her toes to kiss Agron’s cheek. She whispers soft words of encouragement, trying to sooth the other man as she slips her arms around Malik to gently take the babe from him. He doesn’t cry, big eyes widening a little behind his bottle, but as long as he can still see Agron, he is soothed. They stare at each other for a moment – father and son watching one another – and Agron realizes all too suddenly what this means. He goes not only to get his husband back, his heart incarnate, but also Malik’s as well. All his son knows is his parents, and Agron will not let him grow without them.

“Agron,” Duro struggles to stand away from Auctus, face pale but expression hard. The wound in his chest is darker, the faint lines of his veins now throbbing and raised. “Go. There is much to be done in the city, but it is nothing you are necessary for. I can stand in your place. Deploy what guards and medics are needed to secure our kingdom.”

“I will help too, to heal in Nasir’s stead,” Pietros adds, slowly standing on trembling legs. “And Melitta, Oenomaus, and Völva will aid as well.”

Behind the pair, Auctus and Barca smack their fists to their shoulders, bowing their heads in a formal sweep. Saxa does it a moment later, a sign of submission to her cousin and her king. Though the blood on his chin is still bright and sticky, Tove manages to dip his head as well, not bothering to meet Agron’s gaze. Finally, he settles on Crixus and Naevia, both of them with one hand on their swords and the other on their shoulder. Pride swells in Agron’s chest, adoration for his family – his truest allies – yet there is still one that should be here, one whose loyalty means everything. 

“We shall return.” 

Agron leans down to press a kiss to Malik’s forehead, resting his own there for a moment before turning – leading his small arsenal out into the hallway. 

 

\- - - 

_  
They've stopped on a heavily forested plateau, the edge of it steep and rocky, covered in wild blooms of lilac and honeysuckle. The Pythonissan people have settled for the evening, camp fire beginning to be made, the chatter and laughter of those gathering food for dinner. Nasir knows he should be down there helping, should be helping Pietros begin on the washings, but he has hidden himself away here. Perched on the edge of the cliff, his short legs swinging over the edge as he tosses rocks into the clear air below._

_Pulling another stock of lilac into his lap, Nasir begins to tug apart the small flowers, scattering them into the wind. He can hear the approaching footsteps, knows the sound of Kalmar's soft soled slippers skidding over rocks. He pauses a few feet behind Nasir, the smell of his cologne catching in the breeze, thick and woodsy._

_"You did well today, little brother. Why are you hiding away out here?" Kalmar murmurs, waving his hand and making the lilac blossoms dance in the air before skirting away._

_"I did nothing I haven't done for the past year." Nasir replies moodily. "I danced. I did magic tricks. And for what? So I can pick up the coins that rich aristocrats throw at our feet? Like a dog begging for scraps?"_

_"You helped feed our family today, our people. We are safe tonight because of what you do, warm and comforted because you gave yourself up to the crowd and they paid to see you." Kalmar drops to his knees, wrapping a long, tan arm around Nasir's bare shoulders. "It may not feel like much or have any worth, but it does."_

_"I want more than this though. I want more than waking up to dance and give fire to people, to entertain them." Nasir turns towards his brother, eager and earnest at just twelve years old. "I want to go on an adventure. Slay some monsters. Rescue a kingdom. Fall in love with a king and rule beside him," Nasir lowers his eyes, hurt creeping into his voice. "I want to do something important for once that does not depend on the movements of my hips or the laughter of a crowd."_

_"Your time will come, little brother." Kalmar kisses Nasir's cheek, wrapping him in a tight hug. "One day, the world will see you and tremble with how magnificent you are."_

Nasir wakes to fingers in his hair, brushing the strands back from his face. He's curled on his side, body pressed deeply into cold, silk pillows, the fire burning low. Outside of the tent, he can hear the howling wind as it rips through the mountains, snow cascading in through the loosely tied door. 

The cold only intensifies the pain in his body. His head aches miserably, face throbbing from Ashur's punch and his split lip. His neck is raw, Caesar's teeth marks still open and oozing slightly. It's misery but not as cruel as the other soreness Nasir is feeling, an ache deep within him that he had teasingly promised Agron he would still feel. The warmth of Agron's embrace may have dimmed in the horror of last night, but Nasir's body betrays him with the ache that remains. 

"Wake up." A soft voice coos into his ear – feminine and light. "There is much for you to see."

Nasir startles at the sound and the feeling of cold against his cheek, recoiling as much as his bound hands will allow. It jars his wounds, body wrecked in agony, but Nasir cannot give into it. Scurrying until his back is once more against the pole, Nasir’s eyes scan the half-darkness, fear pooling hot in his stomach when he lands on the woman. She’s tall and thin, her blond hair falling in small curls around her face, tied up in parts with intricate braids and weaving. Her blush colored dress is thin, a small ring of fur laced around her shoulders as if she can still feel the cold. 

“I am sorry for frightening you.” Striking a match against a small stone, she lights one of the silver lamps hanging from the rafters above them. “My son did not tell me you had fallen asleep. I imagine you are tired though. The events over the night have been one of many changes.”

Nasir does not speak, watching the woman with narrowed eyes. He knows who she is; he has heard of her. Whispered about between Mira and Naevia one night over an open fire when they had been traveling from the summer lands to Galena. She is a snake, deadly and poisonous, but lovely enough that people often welcome her bite without recoiling. Nasir does not know who is more deadly, her or the woman that lingers just behind, her red curls loose around her shoulders.

“I am Ilithyia.” She gently blows the match out, setting it to the side. “Queen over the Roma Vampires and mother to Caesar – your soon to be. And this is my servant, Lucretia.”

“I know who you are.” Nasir murmurs, curling his fingers up against the rope that binds him. His shoulders have begun to ache between them, spine contorted in a way that arches him too far forward. 

Ilithyia smiles, thin lipped and poised. Nasir cannot help but wonder about her upbringing. If she was a lovely, sweet girl who was turned into this viper or if she was always this way. He knows there was once a time he would have admired her - her grace and the wealth she exudes with every step. Nasir will not allow himself to see it now. He is not here to admire the monsters that have taken him. No, Nasir is here to bargain for the safety of his people or to plan his escape. 

"I must apologize." Ilithyia motions a hand a servant suddenly appears holding a steaming plate. He puts it before Nasir's knees, lingering just to the left. "My son can be overly eager. He doesn't have the patience for dealing with, well." She pauses, glancing back at her companion. 

"Caesar lacks the patience to deal with delicate matters," Lucretia finishes, hands clasped together. "You are a king, of course, but you are more."

"Consort to a mighty king," Ilithyia smiles again, just as calculating as before. "Bearing his children with magic unseen in any other."

"I know who I am." Nasir snarls, hating his body for betraying him as he stomach rumbles. "And like I told Caesar, I will not allow myself to become your toy."

"You misunderstood our intent," Lucretia steps forward, her pale skin seeming almost translucent. "We only wish to rectify the situation. Caesar's lack of manners should not turn you away from us. Please, eat. You must be hungry, and after you've had your fill, we can talk some more."

"After what you've done to me, had Ashur do to me, you expect me to eat?" Nasir snarls, recoiling from the steaming plate. 

"We brought the slave to try everything before you partake. We have no need to poison you now." Ilithyia smirks and suddenly Nasir is very aware of what he's up against. 

He wants to be Agron. He wants to rage and scream and smash everything within his reach. He knows that is what his husband would do in this situation, wrath enough to make the world tremble. Nasir has seen it in its magnificence. Watched mountains bow their head when Agron turns those blazing green eyes towards them, mouth curled in a cruel growl. 

Nasir can't be him now though. The board is set against him, the queen and the pawns placed in perfect order. Even Caesar, standing as prince conducts himself as a ruthless king. No, Nasir needs to be Spartacus, bottle the fury inside of him and play. He will eat because he needs to, because the child inside of him requires it, because he will want all the strength he can muster when his magic surges back into life. Nasir knows now, watching these creatures, that he will not be done with them until he burns them all. 

Slowly, the boy to Nasir's side dips his fingers into the dark soup, licking his digit. It's a trained seductive move, but Nasir has no need for such actions. He doesn't move his eyes from the women, taking the bowl when offered and draining it slowly. It's tasteless, thick the way syrup is, as is the bread that follows. Nasir tries not to recoil, avoids the wine and takes the water that is offered, draining that as well. It's eerily quiet in the tent, not even the sounds from outside seeming to penetrate the velvet around them.

"We have also prepared you appropriate clothes." 

Lucretia holds up a stack of black fabric, shining beads glimmering in the candlelight. Nasir knows what he must look like, covered in blood and mud, a bruise purpling his cheek. He doesn't move to take the clothes though, flinching when the servant suddenly picks him up, forcing him to his feet. Ilithyia snaps something in a language that Nasir doesn’t understand and other men appear, one holding a large steaming of water. Nasir realizes their intention instantly, struggling against his binds. 

“I would prefer to do it myself.” Nasir takes half a step forward. “I will then meet with you and listen to whatever you wish to say. Just-” He hates the curl of panic in his stomach at the idea of these strange men touching him.

Ilithyia and Lucretia glance at one another, calculating and careful, before they turn back with matching nods. The servants place the bucket before Nasir, a cloth dropped into the frothy white suds. The clothes are placed to his side, unhooking Nasir’s hands from the pole and then unwound from his wrists. 

“There will be a guard just outside to escort you to us when you are finished.” Ilithyia smiles, still deadly and calculating. “Do not test our hospitality.”

They leave with a soft flutter of the velvet doorway, a burst of cold air sneaking into the tent with their departure. Left alone, Nasir bites viciously into his bottom lip to keep a desperate sob from leaking out. He doesn’t have the luxury nor the time to dissolve into tears. Dipping his hands into the scalding water, Nasir takes the offered sponge and begins to work. The blood dissolves off his skin, mixing with black tar and dirt. He scrubs at his face until he feels his skin protest, raw and angry, and still he drags the soap over his neck – startling when the cloth runs smoothly. His wolf necklace gone from its place between the dips of his collarbones. 

Nasir lets the tears come then, just the leaking of a few from the corners of his eyes as he unties the ripped and dirty pants from around his waist. He doesn’t allow himself to stay naked for long, making quick work of removing the blood from his thighs, ignoring the bruises there, before yanking on the clothes they’ve provided for him. It is of the same kind, thin flimsy material that bunches together in small ties along his thighs, thick band at his waist. He is more exposed than before, even with the gauzy shift pulled over his chest – sheer and tantalizing. Nasir realizes as he slips the thick cloak over his shoulders why this outfit is familiar. It is a Pythonissan outfit, the type Nasir used to wear when money was dwindling and he was meant to dance for someone important – seducing a lord or prince. They have dressed him as if he’s a gift to Caesar, a slave to meet his every demand.

When Nasir exits the tent, he is immediately herded to the right by two large guards in dark cloaks, their hoods pulled up against the billowing snow. They're faces remain neutral even as they openly stare at him, shimmering eyes gloaming crimson in the dark. Around them, large tents loom foreboding and dark, a few spare torches here and there. It's the curve of the mountains around them that is allowing the impenetrable darkness, the peaks curved with rivets and plateaus to block out the sun. 

Ilithyia is standing alone on a small platform, her perfectly curled hair whipping around her face. From her vantage point, she can look down onto the rest of the army - a thousand dark tents in neat rows. Vampires move from dark space to dark space, a few flickers of light from their torches giving any hint to their intention. She doesn't speak, stone like and calculating, until Nasir moves to her side, waiting until the guards fall back before slowly turning to look at her companion. 

"We are not so different, you and I. Two parents willing to do anything for their sons. Key players in a war we never wanted." Ilithyia says, voice gentle and soft, almost intimate in the way she caresses them.

"I never asked for this," Nasir mutters, watching her profile. "You came to my home, attacked me and my family. Turned my brother against me."

"Ashur was your enemy the moment you came out of your mother with that mark." Ilithyia turns towards him, eyes gleaming. 

"You don't know me." Nasir curls his fingers into his palms, feels his nails biting into them. He wishes vehemently that flames were there too, his magic a charge through his nerves. It is dark though, cold in the space he once found strength.

"I am you." Ilithyia steps closer. She is taller than Nasir, but frail and small in her hands and neck. Nasir can see the blue of her veins even in the light. 

"Violent. Arrogant. Powerful because men always underestimate your strength." Ilithyia smirks slowly, fangs sharp and deadly. "Lovers of deadly men."

“It is not love that brought me here.”

Nasir turns slightly, waving a hand at the tents below them. It is an army of darkness, a nation following a dead muse. There is no life here and yet Nasir knows the truth behind Ilithyia’s words. He can still taste the acidic burn of his magic when he had burnt those vampires so long ago. There is something dark, something hidden inside of him, that only he knows how to tame. Agron had called him back from it, had begged until the black vines had receded, but it still was there - waiting for him. 

"You did not send Ashur away," Ilithyia murmurs, "You let him see, watch you and Agron, invited him into your home. You listened to his words and you saw the truth in them. You don't belong there, Nasir. Agron doesn't belong there either. You belong together and you belong here."

“The only reason Caesar even took me is because he thinks Agron will come for me. He doesn’t want me, only what I can give Agron.” Nasir hisses, baring his teeth. “Your son is a fucking monster.”

“But you did give it to Agron. If what I’ve been told is true, you will always give everything to him.” Ilithyia shrugs one careless shoulder. “You’ve tamed the beast and he has done the same. Your son is the product of animals and he will be groomed into one of our bidding. Who my son chooses to take to bed is of no consequence when we have what we want.”

"You can't have him!" Nasir recoils from her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Either of them."

"He's already coming."

There is a flicker, a caress along his tail bone, and Nasir pauses, teeth lingering against the tip of his tongue. He doesn't know what has caused it, a tease of magic that lights something up along his spine. It feels like when Agron touches him, a shiver of heat that always melts Nasir from the inside out. It’s a warning, a sign, and Nasir turns towards the mountain peaks, half expecting to see his husband standing there. He isn’t, but Nasir knows what it means – she is right. Agron is coming.

Cold hands curl around Nasir’s jaw suddenly, a shock of blond hair catching in the corner of his eye. Caesar leans in close, nose nuzzling against the soft curve of Nasir’s jaw. It’s a move that Agron has done countless times, pressing against and inhaling, scenting Nasir. He wants to recoil, wants to draw away, but Caesar holds him tighter, titling his head. 

“Let him hear it.” Caesar snarls, animalistic vibration shuddering against Nasir’s back. “Call for your king.”

“Fuck you!” Nasir jerks hard, tries to get his elbow between Caesar’s ribs but the vampire just presses harder against him. 

“Come on Nasir.” Caesar’s tongue drags slowly along his pulse, teeth nipping at the skin just after. “Let it out.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” Nasir hisses, legs kicking uselessly. He bites his teeth hard enough to grind, struggling as Caesar locks on harder, looping an arm across Nasir’s chest. 

“Scream for me.”

Fangs descend into Nasir’s jugular, pain blossoming like he’s been burned. Nasir tears through his lip as he tries to keep silent, the torrent sliding through his veins. It’s not like before, there is no shimmer of pleasure to sicken the bite. It is all agony and Nasir can feel something sliding into him with Caesar’s fangs, a poison that shudders through him, pools festering and sick in the center of his chest. Nasir feels his eyes roll back as he releases his lip, one loud cry billowing out of him. The scream echoes across the tents, a ricochet over the peaks around them, magnified to deafening. 

When it’s over and Caesar lets go of him, Nasir drops to his knees, viciously wiping at his eyes. The echoes of the pain are still inside of him, a settling that throbs through his chest and then down to his fingers. Nasir digs his nails into the dirt and bites against it, smears blood into his mouth as he tries to stop from sobbing. What wouldn’t he give up for his family? What torture wouldn’t Nasir endure if it means Malik’s safety, if it meant Agron was still breathing. Let Caesar do his worst, the pain and agony of torture pales in comparison to the thought that Agron could be with him. Nasir will never erase that last cry, the one that had followed him as Caesar had ripped him away. No, Nasir will take it all. Pressing his palms down, Nasir does the only thing he can think to do, praying that someone somewhere will give him just enough magic to let his message be heard. 

_Take me. Let me be enough of a sacrifice._

\- - - 

Blood pounds between Agron's temples, a throbbing pulse that slams half a step behind the press of his feet in the snow. The others follow close behind leaving warm puffs of air before them, the air frigid and unrelenting. It's bitterly cold in the mountains, fresh snow laying thick and smooth around them, the threat of another storm on the horizon. Agron cannot feel it though, ignoring the biting at his fingers as they trudge forward. 

Spartacus had found the crevice in the map, the gaping hole where the mountains lean close together, their peaks creating a basin where the sun won't reach. No one remembers it being significant before, a forgotten space on the map already overflowing with trade routes and safe passages. The mountains are treacherous places - full of hiding spots though. It is a good place as any to begin their search, the vampire tracks from before fading with the new snow.

It feels like there is no time left, as if days are moving too fast, slipping further out of control. Every moment that Agron doesn't know that Nasir is safe is crushing, the weight of it pressing down on him until he feels as if he's going to suffocate. He could have sworn he heard Nasir's scream before, an echo on the wind that cut through him. It's torment, the unknowing of what could be happening to Nasir, of Caesar's hands on him. Agron will never forgive himself for this. He had been so close and yet Nasir was snatched out of his hand. 

They're nearing a sharp peak, the trees thinning as the air turns icy and sharp. The group has been lucky to not cross paths with any of the creatures that live on the mountains – yetis, simurgh, and wild packs of wolves that rove and kill all in their path. There is no moon tonight, the stars blinking between thick clouds.

"Wait." Spartacus fingers raise, halting to Crixus' right as they near the edge of a sharp cliff. Agron and Naevia drop to a crouch, shoulders brushing as they inch forward too. 

Hundreds of tents are nestled in the crevices of the basin below, dark fabric billowing in the chilled air. It is nearing midnight on the mountains, fires burning on the edges of the encampment as if an afterthought. Vampires do not feel the elements as their human counterparts, immune to heat and cold, skilled in nocturnal sight, and yet it seems that the vampires have descended into celebrating instead of standing on guard. Even from their perch, the Alptraum can see the groups dancing, a violin echoing high and loud in the breeze. 

"You were right." Crixus exhales, golden eyes shimmering as he takes in the vampire encampment below. "How did they even know about this fucking place?"

"Ashur must have come across it," Agron shrugs, "Found it somewhere. Told Caesar."

"No. All those vampire scouts we kept getting reports of. They weren't random," Naevia shakes her head, teeth biting into her lip. “They were searching for it. Ashur didn’t come to help them find a place to camp. He came to show them how to get into the castle.”

Agron growls deep in his chest, feeling his fangs descending. He wants to shift, the wolf inside of him beating against his ribs. He wants to rage, to descend into the fury of madness that comes with letting the beast inside of him take control. There is too much at stake though. There are only four of them, the chosen four, and hundreds of vampires below. Still, Agron would take on the whole horde by himself if it meant that Nasir would be safe. Stretching out his magic, searching for Nasir, only leads to cold ends. 

“What do we do? What’s the plan?” Agron turns towards Spartacus, fluorescent green eyes meeting gold. 

“We go down and get him.” Spartacus replies simply, that gleam in his eye. He may have calmed over the years, age maturing him, but Spartacus still gets this way about him in light of battle – a crazy that bleeds into those around him. Agron can feel it, the tension and heat on the cusp of battle that eases through his veins, makes his palms itch and sweat. 

“How? We don’t even know what tent he is in!” Crixus hisses, bowed low to the ground. There is a sprouting of dark hair down the back of his neck, bear claws digging into the soft snow in place of his hands. 

“There.”

Spartacus is pointing towards the left side of the encampment where a group of tents are nestled in the crevice of a tall rock formation. They create a barrier to the back, sheltered from the approaching storm and anyone try to sneak around behind, a few guards lingering outside. Towards the left side, a smaller tent stands out from the rest. It’s covered in thick blankets, six large vampires lingering just outside the door and to each side. They’re heavily armed, standing at full attention. 

“How do you know?” Naevia whispers, her fingers dancing over the sword hilt against her hip. 

“It’s the only tent with a fire inside.” Spartacus replies, glancing at Agron. “He has to be alive if they’re worried about keeping him warm.”

Agron swallows thickly, nodding his head. He knows it should make him feel better, reassured that they’re going to be able to do this, but fate has been so cruel to him. What is going to happen if they get down there and are overwhelmed. Could Agron live through another moment where Nasir is snatched from his arms. Is Agron strong enough to battle through this army to get to his husband?

Turning, he glances over his friends – his family. They are strong, fierce in their power and tenacity in battle. There is nothing he would not do for them and nothing they would not willingly give. Yet, Agron knows the weight of this request. Below them, a legion of nightmares wait to slaughter them. Caesar will stop at nothing to gain what he wants and he’s already halfway there. They are walking into the lair, blazing and defiant. 

“Agron.” Crixus reaches over, clasping Agron’s shoulder. They are close enough that Agron can see the faint hazel ring around the neon yellow of Crixus’ eyes. “We are with you.”

“We are with Nasir.” Naevia echoes, pressing her clenched fist to her shoulder. “In all things.”

Behind, Spartacus slowly gets to his feet, unsheathing his sword in a metallic chime of metal against metal. He flashes his teeth down at Agron, the sharp canines feline and deadly in the darkness. 

“Call your wolves, majesty, and let’s go get out king back.” 

\- - - 

Leaning heavily back against the pole, Nasir rolls his head to stare at the ceiling. His neck is burning, the pain coming over him in waves, choking the air out of his lungs. Caesar had deposited him here again with a smirk and quick, coiling kiss to his cheek, leaving a small basin of wood to burn nearby to fight off the chill of the mountains. Nasir had wanted to scratch him, to dig his fingers into his face and yank, but he has no more strength. He feels faint, feverish as the poison from Caesar's mouth courses through him. Still, something catches outside, an echo of sound that cuts through Nasir's fog. 

It is a wolf's howl - the resonation of it so familiar and intimate Nasir instantly feels as if he's going to cry. He barely has the energy to lift his head, craning his neck up as another howl echoes behind the other one, this one not as sharp, not as deep. Then another answers, this one low and loud. They seem to surround the whole area, bouncing off one another and echoing deep into the basin. There are wild packs that roam the woods of Alptra, Nasir knows this, has seen them when they had traveled to Galena, but this seems like something else – something more.

Somewhere in the encampment, a scream slices through the night air, another following quickly behind with the audible sound of blood splattering on the snow. Shouts go up, vampires biting through their language as they call to one another. It is met with another snarl, a cry cut short, and a litany of what sounds like orders and curses. Rising above all of it, the snarling of monsters colliding with one another. The battle just outside of the velvet descending swift and deadly as chaos grows.

Every hair on Nasir’s body stands on end when he hears the roar, deafening and violent above the battle cries around him. It feels as if it is all around them, unrelenting and furious as it slithers into a growl. Nasir knows that voice, knows the only beast that could possible produce it. Warmth fills Nasir’s chest, boiling and acidic as he struggles to his feet, yanking hard against his ties. Licks of gold ease over his chest, faint but present as magic begins to ease back through his body. It is not to its full potential, but it is growing. 

Twisting his fingers, Nasir snaps his fingers and concentrates, lets the knowledge that Agron is here – is close – fill him. Burning power presses down upon him, the poison trying to control the surge of rage inside of him. It weakens with every moment though, Nasir biting his lip hard enough to bleed as sparks start to emerge from his fingertips. 

“Fuck! Come on! Come on!” Nasir hisses in Pythonissan, surprised when he starts to feel his fangs descending. 

The sparks start to grow stronger, the burning slicing through the thick ropes wrapped around his wrist. The battle from outside is only growing in ferocity, the screams growing as more snarling joins the fight, hundreds of wolves descending the sides of the cliffs. Nasir’s desperation claws at him, forcing him faster and more determined to get free. 

He nearly has one undone when the flaps of the tent open, a guard standing there coated in blood. His snarling mouth pulls back in a full growl as he marches forward, hands extended and reaching for Nasir’s face. There is no time as the ropes fall from around Nasir’s arms, his fingers curled into claws as Nasir plants his feet and jumps. Spartacus and Saxa would be proud of how Nasir lands, legs wrapped around the vampire’s ribs as he using his mouth and nails to claw at the man’s neck – blood spurting everywhere. They fall to the ground, Nasir unrelenting as he continues to scratch and bite him, falling away only when he knows the vampire is truly dead. Then he rolls to his feet, pushing open the tent’s flap and joining the throng of battle. 

\- - - 

Blood coats Agron’s armor, it slick and choking down from his snarling mouth to his chin. Around him, chaos as descending upon the vampire army. The Alptraum wolves, the ones to patrol the mountains around them, answered their king's call and have come to aid. They are bigger than the normal packs of Taurant and surrounding countries, standing nearly five feet tall from shoulder to ground, bodies thick with muscles and gray black fur. They lock onto their victims, using powerful paws to drag claws through necks and chests. 

Agron pushes forward, spinning around one vampire to plunge his sword into another. He can see the tents before him, the nestle of royal emblems on the velvet giving it away. He can feel Nasir inside of them, can feel him close, magic snapping and recoiling as it searches over and over again. 

Spartacus is to his left, thrusting sharp and deadly at the line of beasts before them. He keeps his swords close, a spinning force of blood and destruction. Agron knows that they are a good team, feeding off one another as Naevia and Crixus work close together to the right. 

Agron swings hard towards one vampire, their head going flying as he jabs with his free hand, yanking another one closer by the front of their armor. Fitting the tip of his blade between the vampire's chest piece and his collarbone, Agron plunges the blade shifting down into his body, yanking free in a shower of crimson. His roar is deafening again as he turns towards the approaching horde, pressing forward as a burst of fire suddenly catches his attention to the right. 

Through the sea of moving bodies, Agron can just make out the shadow of a figure standing beside a burning tent, hair flying in the frozen air. Heart surging, Agron swings his sword down again onto another approaching vampire who doesn’t get a chance to raise her guard in time. He slices through her just as Nasir turns towards him. Through the licking of flames, Agron can just make out the bruises on his face, the dried blood on his neck and chest, his body on display through the thin clothing he’s wearing. 

“Nasir!” Agron shouts to him, stabbing repeatedly into the vampire who tries to block his path. 

Relief spreads across Nasir’s face, expression elated as he sees his husband. He stumbles forward, bare feet slipping in the slick ground as he tries to dash around a group of wolves and vampires colliding. Pushing around them, Nasir is nearly out of the circle of tents when suddenly from behind, Caesar appears. The vampire is covered in blood, looking more beast than man as he gnashes his teeth together with a snarl. He roughly grabs Nasir by the hair, yanking the smaller man back across the ground. 

“No!” Agron screams, the sound ripping through his throat. “Nasir!”

It’s a frenzy as Agron pushes forward again, reckless and frantic as he tries to move through the blood soaked ground. Caesar seems to notice him then, turning with blazing eyes and a snarling mouth. Nasir is trying desperately to claw at him, bare feet skidding on the soft ground. He locks his hands around Caesar’s wrist, tugging as weak sparks shower out of his fingers. 

“Agron! Agron!” Nasir cries out, looking desperately back towards his husband and then up at Caesar, screaming when the vampire snarls at him. He doesn’t stop fighting, using his whole body to try and get away, hands desperate and sliding over Caesar’s blood slick armor. 

The blow is unexpected, a vampire’s war hammer slamming into Agron’s back and forcing him to his knees. The monster swings again, nearly catching Agron’s shoulder if he hadn’t ducked and rolled out of the way. It’ s obliterated in the next moment as both Spartacus and Crixus are there, wrestling the vampire back to the ground and striking his head from his body. It doesn’t matter though. The break in Agron’s movement gives Caesar the opportunity he needs. 

Caesar stands tall, yanking Nasir’s head to the side by his grip on his hair until it feels as if it will snap. His snarl reverberates from his chest into Nasir’s smooth back. Time seems to slow, the rush and power of the battle around them becoming smears of color and sound. Through the moving bodies between them, Nasir’s watery gaze meets Agron’s, mouth trembling around the sound of his husband’s name. He has his arm up, fingers skidding along Caesar’s face, smearing it with blood and sparks, as Caesar’s fangs descend back into his neck. 

Agron is on his feet, running through the sludge and mass of bodies as Nasir screams, body going limp as Caesar presses into him. It only lasts a moment, quick stabbing pain, but black oozes from the wound when Caesar pulls away, smirking through stained teeth. Nasir doesn’t struggle any further, eyes closed and body limp as it slams into the ground, laying comatose as Caesar backs up and disappears into the throng of battle behind him.

Skidding in the mud, Agron’s knees hit the ground as he desperately reaches for Nasir, gently gripping his face between his soiled hands. Even the glow of the fires dances over him, Nasir looks pale, lips faded to an almost pale blue. He’s still breathing, shallow and labored, and Agron’s fingers skid over Nasir’s neck when he tries to check his pulse. This close, he can see the full effect of Caesar’s bite – the skin raw and broken, blood oozing out with a thick black sludge. Agron can’t help from crying out when he sees the two other bite marks beside it. 

“Agron,” Nasir’s lips barely move, an exhale around the word. “Oh Agron.”

“It’s okay, Nasir. I’m right here.” Agron presses his forehead down against Nasir’s, feels his shudder through the pain. “Stay with me.”

“Malik. My baby.” Nasir cringes, eye lashes fluttering. His blood is starting to clot along the tendon of his neck, still vibrantly red.

“He’s okay. He’s safe back at the castle. Pietros has him.” Agron presses his mouth to Nasir’s temple. “Everything is going to okay.”

“You came for me.” Nasir gasps, wet and choking. “Why? Caesar-”

“I’ll always come for you.” Agron swears, holding the side of Nasir’s face, kissing his forehead again. “I promised we’d be together forever. I’m not going to let you go again.”

“It hurts.” Nasir chokes on a half sob, fingertips skidding along Agron’s thigh when he tries to move. “Something is wrong.”

“Hold on, Nasir, just hold on.” Agron hooks his arms around Nasir, lifting him from the ground. “I’m going to get us out of here.”

Spartacus appears then, fists wrapped around the reigns of four startled horses, bare backed and kicking. It is clear what their true purpose is within the vampire encampment – bodies thick with blood and easily slaughtered. Agron doesn’t care, doesn’t linger on the horror of it. He eases Nasir up onto the back of a large stallion, its inky mane flashing red and gold in the firelight around them. Swinging on himself, Agron wraps his arms around Nasir, guides the horse forward and up, following swiftly behind the others, ignoring the screams behind him as they surge towards the castle. 

 

\- - - 

Wet snowflakes splatter against the glass windows, the rolling sound of thunder snow echoing in the small room. A fire is burning in the hearth, rosy and warm. Duro sits near it, slouched in the rocking chair. The tip of his boot resting on the edge of the cradle before him, every few moments, he pushes his toes down, rocks the soft branches and wood encompassing around his nephew. The crystal mobile over him has been repaired as much as it can be, the some of the gems cracked and shattered when the cradle had been toppled during the fight.

In the very corner, Apep stands guard, large eyes unblinking and steady. The only evidence that he is alive at all is the slow rise and fall of his chest. He is unswayed by anything, standing vigilant in his command. 

Malik isn't sleeping, sprawled on his back with arms curled close to him, big eyes staring up at the ceiling. He’s been nearly silent since the battle, only whimpering and fighting against every wet nurse they’ve tried to give him. Melitta and Pietros seem to be the only ones able to get Malik to take a bottle, and even then it is a struggle. There is a thick blanket covering his legs, soft and fur, and Duro can tell that it came off of Agron and Nasir’s bed. It smells thickly of his parents, Malik’s small fingers gripping it in two tiny fists up close to his face. 

“How is he?” Auctus leans against the nursery doorframe, large arms crossed over his chest. 

“Okay, I guess.” Duro looks up, still worrying his thumbnail between his teeth. “He only stopped crying when I covered him up.”

“Melitta didn’t have any luck with any of the wet nurses?” Auctus asks, frowning as Duro shakes his head, “We’ll have to figure out something else.”

“I think he knows they’re back.” Duro presses his foot down again, rocking the crib. “He keeps making that high-pitched noise he does when he wants Nasir.”

“They haven’t woken him.” Auctus steps into the room, gently rubbing his fingers through Duro’s curls. The prince leans up into the touch, groaning when Auctus turns his fingertips to massaging instead of just caressing. “Whatever poison Caesar injected in him is strong.”

“Are they sure they even can? I saw him when they brought him in. He looked halfway to death.” Duro rubs his fingers into the corners of his eyes. “It just feels-“ He stops, shaking his head. 

“Pietros is with him and Melitta and Völva.” Auctus crouches down, pressing his head against Duro’s. “They’re doing all they can.”

“And what if it’s not enough? What if-“ Duro stops, dark eyes trailing over to where Malik has rolled onto his side, gumming at his fist. 

“I can watch the babe. Why don’t you go see your brother?” Auctus murmurs after a moment, leaning down to kiss Duro’s temple. 

“And tell him what?” Duro asks, turning to his fiancé. “I have nothing to give him. I couldn’t even go help him fight the vampires.”

“It is not what you can give.” Auctus holds Duro’s chin. “It’s what Agron needs. What Nasir will need when he wakes up.”

Duro nods, rubbing absentmindedly at the scar on his chest. Völva and Pietros had worked together to heal him, but the mark will remain. It seems so trivial now – the fight with Helio and the games. He had been so caught up with petty bullshit he hadn’t even known that something was wrong. Did any of them realized the threat that was looming around them? In their very house?

“Go to him.” Auctus kisses Duro’s frowning mouth, lingering close before pulling away. 

“I’ll be back. Take care of my nephew."

Shuffling forward, Duro leans over the side of the crib, carefully easing Malik onto his back. The babe coos softly in reply, letting go of the blanket with one of his hands to press to Duro's cheek. Duro answers in kind, leaning in and gently nuzzles against Malik's plump cheek. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, something gentle and completely wolf, and Malik answers in his own high pitched whine.

"Love you little man. Just hold on a bit longer, alright?" Duro murmurs, kissing Malik's forehead. "Everything is going to be okay soon."

He meets Auctus' eyes when he stands up, his own watery and dark. Duro nods once, seeming to try and regain his composure before swiftly exiting through the bedroom door. They've put Malik in an side room off Agron's kingly chamber, so Duro has to walk nearly the whole length of the castle to the medical chambers. 

When the group had returned early in the morning, Duro had barely caught a glimpse of them. Spartacus was in front, clearing people out of the way as Crixus and Naevia helped. Right behind them, Agron had been carrying Nasir, body covered in Agron's own cloak. Duro hadn't gotten a clear view of his brother in law's face, but he had seen the pale, sweaty forehead. It was enough to sense trouble. 

He can hear the shouting even before he reaches the hallway, the screams echoing down the long hall. It sounds like Nasir, the wailing and screaming mixing with Agron's own shouts of distress. Someone is banging on a door, the sound of other voices filling the air. 

"Agron! You have to let them work!" Spartacus is shouting, attempting to pull Agron back from where he is pounding on a large wooden door. 

"Let me in! I can fucking hear them hurting him!" Agron roars. His eyes are glowing, fangs fully extended as he beats against the door hard enough that it rattles. “Nasir!”

"They're not hurting him. They're helping him." Mira stands at Agron's other side, her hand pressed to his chest. "Agron, you have to let them work. Remember that time in the woods? You have to let them work their magic."

“This isn’t before! I have to see him,” Agron growls deep in his chest, pulling back an arm to slam into the antique hinges when Spartacus clamps down on him, dragging him back. 

“We do not know what Caesar’s bite did to him nor what the vampires could have done while we searched. You need to let them work or Nasir is only going to get worse.” Spartacus reaches out, roughly grabbing Agron’s chin. 

“Agron, if you don’t let them work, Nasir is going to die.”

Agron stills, chest heaving as he grits his teeth in a silent growl. The war rages across his face, the need to be with his mate, his husband – to protect and help heal – but Agron knows there is little he can do now. The magic inflicted upon him is too strong, foreign and dangerous, and Spartacus is right. There is no way of knowing what else may have happened, of what else could have been inflicted upon him.

“Pietros is with him,” Duro speaks up, moving deeper into the hallway. He doesn’t touch Agron, lets him pull away from Spartacus and thread his hands through his hair, pacing the length of the hall. “You know we don’t understand their magic. We have to let them do what they can.”

"It's not enough."

Agron restless shakes his head, unable to keep still as he fidgets with the cuff around his wrist. He hates feeling like this, helpless and stuck outside of a door, frozen with worry and sick while Nasir suffers within it. He has tried so hard to keep this from happening, had sworn over and over that he would protect Nasir at all costs, protect Malik above everyone else. And yet, they both have been caused pain and Agron stands by helpless to fix it.

"All we can do is wait." Mira murmurs, leaning heavily against the wall. There are dark circles under her eyes, a weary sort of expression pulling down her brow.

It continues this way for at least an hour, the dread and fear multiplying with every passing moment. Everyone skating eye contact and shifting this way and that, they huddle in chairs and on the floor, waiting while servants bring bowls of water to the medic's door before scampering off. Naevia answers it, snatches the bowl up and pointedly ignores Agron's quickly raised head. He doesn't miss the blood on her cheek though, simple dress covered in it. 

The screams tamper off, a low moaning taking their place before they're silenced as well. Outside the double doors at the end of the hall, night falls. A maid comes down the hall with a long match to light the lamps, avoiding where Duro and Tove lean against one another against the wall. It is dark here, only a few windows to line between the rooms, a soft snow beginning to fall and cling to the windowsills. It feels as if winter will never end. 

Finally, the door to the inner suite opens, Völva and Melitta filling out with Naevia, all of the women lingering close to one another. They don't say anything, but their expressions are enough, mouths tight and eyes damp. Slowly, from the dark inner rooms, Pietros emerges. He's barely walking, a more shuffling gate, openly crying as he tries to rub the blood and black tar from his hands.

"Pietros," Duro gasps, scrambling to get off the stone floor, but he stops when the other man holds out his hand, approaching Agron first. 

"What is it?" Agron barks, the fury of worry making his eyes gleam. 

Pietros reaches out, gently cups his hands around Agron's and squeezes, staring up at him. "He is alive."

Agron nearly deflates, knees suddenly weak in relief, halted as Pietros continues. 

"He is not the same though. Whatever magic Caesar did to him, he is not the same."

"What do you mean? How?" Agron glances over Pietros as if he expects Nasir to be lingering there in the doorway, all soft smiles and glowing light. The way it was before. The way it should be now.

"Caesar has poisoned him. His magic. His body." Pietros clings tighter to Agron's hands. "Nasir is dangerous now, Agron. It is as if Caesar tried to change him, to turn him, and instead-"

"I want to see him." Agron yanks away, shaking his head. The truth of the words, if they are true, sit burning in the center of his chest. 

"Pietros speaks the truth, grandson." Völva steps forward, her long gray hair frizzy and soft. "His magic is rampant, dark and coiling in ways it has not before. There is no gold inside of him."

Agron looks at them, stares at his family, and his stomach turns. "Can we reverse the poison?"

"There is nothing we can do." Pietros chokes, rubbing at his eyes. "We tried. It is beyond us."

"He is safe now. We were forced to tie him down," Völva frowns, "He kept trying to get free and leave. Calling for you and the babe."

"Tied him down?" Agron raises his eyebrows.

"He is dangerous. His magic-"

Pietros doesn't get a chance to finish, Agron roughly shoving him into Duro as he marches towards the door. The others protest, raise their concerns of how Nasir is a force now, of how his magic is dangerous and the black lines that dance across his skin. Agron will not hear it though, marching through the suite, Spartacus close on his heel. The two men bang through the medic room door, the wood slamming into the wall with a crack. It is a simple room, only a large bed in the center with a chair nearby and a small table, a nestle of candles giving the room a darkened glow. 

Curled against the center of the headboard, knees tucked to his chest, Nasir peers at the two men. They haven't changed him from the clothes he was given with Caesar, the thin black chiffon torn in some places, still transparent and taunting. His right wrist is bound to the wood, the silk used looking strained and twisted. It's his eyes though, the sheen of red glossing over them in the darkness, the way Nasir's fingers are ended in claws, that gives them both pause. 

"Agron no! His magic with yours! It is unstable-" Pietros has followed them, scurrying across the stone floor, but Agron reaches back and shuts the door, flipping the lock over. He will hear no more of this. He needs to see it for himself. 

Slowly, Nasir unfurls his arms from around himself, tilting his head up at the commotion. The move is graceful in its calculations, careful as Nasir's slitted eyes rove over the pair. He hisses softly, the noise a rattle in the silent room. 

"The most noble King Agron and his right hand Lord Spartacus."

Standing, Nasir eases his fingers slowly over himself, trailing from the cut of his hips up over his chest to his shoulders. Agron has seen the move before, but not like this, not when the medicinal herbs still linger in the air, when Nasir's skin looks waxy and pale. Fear coils in his chest as Nasir carefully brushes his hair back, smirk growing. He addresses them as if he doesn’t know them, as if this is their first meeting.

"Come to claim your prize? You did manage to steal me back from under Caesar’s nose."

"What?" Agron can feel the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand as a ribbon of black eases over Nasir's throat. It has been a very long time since he’s seen it.

"You're here to fuck me." Nasir states boldly, licking slowly over one of his fangs. “You both have wanted it for a while. It doesn’t take my new power to sense that.”

"Your highness, you mistake intent-" Spartacus flounders, glancing at Agron as Nasir slowly begins to sway back and forth, fingers trailing over his jeweled belt. 

"I do not." Nasir unhooks one of the strands of onyx from around him. "There is no sweeter prize than your best friend's mate. I can smell it on you.”

Spartacus looks wide eyed at Agron, slightly shaking his head. 

"You have seen it, though you deny it. How often have you stood witness to our lust for one another? Were you not in the room when I tried to seduce him back to bed? Watched and heard Agron's fingers within me?" Nasir grins, the crimson in his eyes glowing brighter. He undoes another tie around his waist, pants slipping lower. "You wanted to reach over and taste. I could tell. You always have."

"Stop it." Agron suddenly barks, stepping forward. He lingers at the foot of the bed, staring up at his husband. “Nasir, what is this?”

"Isn't this what you wanted, _my love_?" Nasir sinks back down, crawls forward as much as his tied hand will allow. “You wanted me to become one of your group, your little family. How did you expect me to secure their allegiance?”

“You know that this is not your place.” Agron replies, fingers tightening on the wood bedpost until it creaks. “Nasir, this is not you. You know this.” 

"You are part of our family. We were worried about you." Spartacus speaks up, approaching the bed carefully. "You were in Caesar's hold for nearly a week before we found you."

“Family is such an interesting word among these walls.” Nasir tilts his head to his side, teasing and coy. Agron can barely recognize him, every movement he makes poisoned and calculated.

“Nasir, we only want to help.” Spartacus murmurs, wringing his hands. “You are more than our king. You’re our friend, our brother. Please, you must remember that.”

“You say the words, but I have seen what is in your hearts.” Nasir hisses, shaking his head. His expression has morphed now, something dark curling in his eyes. “You hated Ashur because he spoke the truth. He saw what I could not admit-“

“He was a liar!” Agron snarls, slamming his hand down on the footboard hard enough the bed shudders. “We have been over this a hundred times! Nasir, listen to fucking reason. Ashur poisoned you, both physically and mentally. He nearly killed you. How can you find any value in his lies?”

“Agron,” Spartacus softly reprimands, shaking his head at the other man for losing his temper. He turns towards Nasir again, hands clasped before him. “Nasir, you have been through a very traumatic experience. I know you must feel overwhelmed.”

Nasir and Agron continue to stare at one another, barely a foot between them. Agron can't feel his magic. When he reaches out, there is something blocking it, a hard barrier that Agron cannot pass through even though he tries. The man before him doesn’t feel like Nasir. He looks like him, the dark hair and full mouth, the way Nasir’s chest heaves as he breathes. But he doesn’t feel right, doesn’t smell like cinnamon and jasmine. There is nothing but blank space. 

“What has he done to you?” Agron asks breathlessly, stomach churning. Another lick of black slithers over Nasir’s arm up onto his stomach, eyes shimmer. Agron can barely look at him, horrified at the extent that Caesar’s poison has changed him, has darkened his mind and filled it with hatred and darkness. 

“He has made me better. Released inside of me what my magic truly should be. He has made me now who I should be," Nasir hisses again, easing his fingertips over his neck – tracing the bite. “We must return to him. There is no other way."

"No. Nasir. You are mistaken." Spartacus shakes his head. "Think of Malik. Think of what Caesar and Ashur have done to this family."

Nasir inhales slowly, settling back on his heels. "It is inevitable. Caesar's hunger will not be sated until he gets what he wants. We will go to him and he will take his king. Agron you have been promised to him for so long. And I will give both of you what I can."

Agron cannot stand it, cannot hear another word. Heat settles in his chest as his stomach plummets, staring across the bed and this creature. It is cruel how much he appears to be Nasir, _is Nasir_ , but at the same time is not. After everything they have both fought for, after everything that Nasir has endured, to be on the very brink of happiness only to have it snatched away. Agron is sick from it, growing worse as Nasir smirks, toying with his navel ring.

“Give in, my love, and see us rise to heights yet unknown with him.” Nasir murmurs with glowing eyes and fangs. 

“No.”

Agron surges up on the bed, knees digging into the rough sheets as he chases Nasir back across it. The other man doesn’t shout, instead hisses sharply, recoiling as Agron moves with him. They end up against the headboard, Agron's hands gentle as they cradle his husband's face, looming close until they are inches apart – breathing the same air. He holds him there, stares down at Nasir and hates that there are tears clouding his eyes. 

"Tell me what to do." Agron murmurs, resting his forehead down against Nasir's. "Tell me how to fix this. I'll do anything."

"Agron-" Nasir whimpers, voice soft and gentle. It is a contrast to moments before, seeming to quell whatever dark magic is within him just long enough to press up against Agron, free arm looping around his neck. It presses his bare skin against Agron’s, burning hot and humid in the freezing room. Agron can feel the crackling of magic, an inferno that seems to be relentless. 

"Do not let it come to this." Agron begs the words, succumbing to Nasir's tilted head, kissing him gently. He finds himself falling, swimming in the taste of Nasir’s mouth, the way his lips are trembling. "I cannot lose you again, Nasir. It will end me. How do I fix this?"

"There is nothing to fix, my king." Nasir pets Agron's jaw, kissing him again. It's dizzying the slipping of their mouths together mixing with their tears, both clinging to one another. Nasir digs his fingers into Agron’s shoulders, tugs him forward as they move against one another. It’s intimate and hot, sweat prickling on the back of Agron’s neck when Nasir whimpers. “We are not broken. We are on the cusp of something great. Can’t you feel it?”

“No, not this.” Agron’s hands slide down Nasir’s waist, trace his thighs through chiffon. Something seems to be tightening in his chest, instincts flaring. His body drawn to Nasir’s, hands wanting to grip and tug, hold Nasir down against the blankets and _take_. “Nasir, what is this?”

“Give in. Give in to me, my love.” Nasir arches his back, aims to lay down among the pillows. He tastes like blood, fangs digging into Agron’s bottom lip and tugging. “Let me show you what we can be. What Caesar has shown me.”

“Caesar is a monster, Nasir. He wants to turn our son into a demon, a bringer of fire and darkness to this world.” Agron pulls back, eyes pleading. He holds Nasir’s head, resisting the urge to shake him, to try and make him see. “There must be some part of you, below the poison, that knows that these words are true.”

“Agron. Why are you doing this?” Nasir slowly drops his hands, recoiling away from his husband until there is enough space between them. It forces him further against the wood, shaking his head. "I am me. You are the one that needs to realize your rightful place."

The more Nasir speaks, the worse the pain gets in Agron's chest. He scoots back, shaking his head as the truth begins to settle over him. Völva, Melitta, and Pietros could not cure him. They don’t even know what sort of poison Caesar had to mix with Nasir’s blood, with his resurging magic, with the way he’s acting. Whatever it is, darkness has settled into his heart and mind, changing him and coiling him away from the man that Agron married, the man he loves beyond all else. Before him kneels a caricature, a monster hidden in beauty.

“Let me go.” Nasir sighs finally, hands in his lap. “Give me Malik and let me go to where I belong. Caesar will give you time to make up your mind. He loves you. But I cannot stay.”

“Fuck Caesar and his plans.” Agron snarls, wrenching away and slipping from the bed. He runs his fingers through his hair, fighting against the urge to scream. It’s too fucking much, this smothering heat that seems to want to burn his nerves away. “Your place is here, with us, with your fucking family.”

“Where is Malik?” Nasir repeats, voice slipping into more of a command, eyes flashing. He coils back up, ready to strike. “I want to see my son.”

“He is resting, majesty, and so should you.” Spartacus speaks up, lingering to the side. He looks uncomfortable, fingers dancing across the hilt of his sword. “You will need your strength for the days ahead.”

“Agron.” Nasir snaps, voice sharp as he reaches out, fingers skimming over Agron’s arm. With his own tied to the bed, he can barely reach his husband, nails skirting over the skin.. “I want to see my son.”

“Our son.” Agron looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowed, “and no. Not until we end this madness. He is already scared enough as it is.”

“You can’t keep him from me. I gave him life. He is of me.” Nasir doesn’t bother to look at Spartacus, ignoring the other man when he tries to interject again. A lattice of black slinks over his brow, down across his cheeks like a veil. “Give him to me.”

“We swore his life above ours. You are dangerous, the way you are now. Caesar has poisoned you against us, against yourself.” Agron chokes on the words, can feel the acidity of sickness creeping up his stomach. “I cannot trust you.”

Suddenly, Nasir lunges forward, arm wrenching painfully as he pulls against his bindings. Gaze awash in crimson, Nasir bares his fangs and hisses, the sound animal and sharp. There are no gold scales on his skin, no lights and shining magic. No, it is a cross hatch pattern of black that eases over his stomach and onto his chest, pupils dilating. His nails dig into Agron’s arm, drawing blood. Before Agron can stop his instincts, he rushes forward too, responding with a powerful growl that ricochets around the room. A snarl curling his lips, he arches his back, looming over Nasir who spits up at him. The venom lands on Agron’s shoulder, sizzling and burning the flesh, but unable to sink in further. Agron can feel his fangs slice through, spine hunching sharply as he fights against his full shift. They stare at each other, beasts ready to strike, on the precipice of disaster.

“Agron no!” Spartacus is suddenly roughly yanking on the other man, “Think of who this is.”

“I know who he was.” Agron’s fingers gently brush over Nasir’s cheek, a contrast to what it aches to do. “Not this.” 

Agron yanks away from Nasir then, unable to stand it. There are other words that he wants to say, curses and promises and how much pain has blossomed in his chest. He can’t though, choking the words back as he recoils, backing from the room in horror. 

“Agron!” Glowing eyes shimmering again as he backs away, Nasir scrambling across the bed. “You can’t leave me! Agron! Please!”

His voice cracks, suddenly desperately Nasir as he lets out a choked sob. 

“I’m your husband!”

Agron shoves through the medic’s rooms to the hall, anger burning bright and hot inside of him, hands over his ears. It consumes him, suffocating and destructive as Agron reaches for one of the side tables along the wall, picking it up one handed and tossing it. The vase that once rested there shatters on the stones, the wood splintering on the wall and then again on the floor in a terrible crash. Mira and Naevia recoil from him, pressing against the wall as Agron grips his hands into fists and howls. 

“Agron. You must stay calm,” Spartacus closes the door behind him to the medic’s rooms. He’s pale, mouth in a thin line. “We will figure it out.”

“There is nothing to figure out. His own best friend doesn’t know how to cure him. We don’t know this magic. We barely know anything about Nasir’s.” Agron shouts, another vase ruined as he throws it down the hall, a tapestry following. The anguish is palpable as he runs his hands through his hair. “We cannot fight a battle that is not here. It’s inside of him.”

“There must be-“ Duro speaks up, silenced as Pietros, who is crying, shakes his head. 

“I don’t know how to fix this. We don’t have the magic power and no books speaks of this. We tried everything.” Pietros sits curled in on himself on a chair. “No one has ever poisoned one of us like this.”

“What about your people? Kallistos must know something. We could write to them, send messengers,” Tove suggests, his own face weary around a dark bruise. “Someone must have answers.”

“There is no knowing even where the rest of the Pythonissan are.” Pietros rubs at his eyes. “We travel constantly, especially in winter. I’ve tried calling out to the twins. It’s not my power. Only Nasir could connect with them from this distance.”

“We could try. There is still hope.” Mira tries, looking to Spartacus and then to Agron, attempting to be reassuring. “We’ll send out messengers and search.”

“Nasir’s power is growing, Agron.” Völva looks up from her clasped hands in her lap. “He’s returning to himself.”

“Don’t-“ Agron turns, snarling around the words. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“He was dangerous before. You saw firsthand how he couldn’t control his magic.” Völva continues, disregarding Agron’s deep growl. “What are you going to do when he is back to full power?”

“Stop!” Agron draws himself up, turns on his grandmother with blazing eyes. “That is not some captured monster in there. Not some beast to slaughter to save our kingdom. That is my husband! The father of my son!”

“He is a god, Agron!” Völva stands, voice sharp and commanding. “Do not let your heart cloud the truth. You must think of the greater good.”

“And what do you expect me to do?” Agron’s hackles draw up, shoulders tense. “What would you have me do? Lay my hands on him? Choke the air from his lungs while he fights against me, begs for his life? Would you have me turn into one of your own fucking sons?”

“At least Gerulf knew when to take down a threat!” Völva snaps, gray head tipped up to glare at her grandson.

Agron’s growl shakes the glass in the windows as he advances, claws and fangs out, ready to attack. The eerie way he hunches makes it apparent he’s barely containing his shift, veins throbbing along the muscles of his arms, bare chest heaving, the blood from his burn mark trickling down along his peck. Agron knows if he gives in there will be no end to this. No one to pull him back.

Suddenly, the double doors at the end of the hall slam open, hinges shuddering from the force of the blow. Outside, a new light glows bright and golden, shattering into the dim hallway, casting long shadows on the floor. It creates a halo around the six figures, back lit and walking quickly along the silver stones. 

The one in the front leads them forward, long hair a tumble of waves down his back, sheer clothing light and shimmering compared to the dark and rough fabrics of Alptraum. A line of silver pain coats his brow, nose and cheeks covered in dark freckles, biceps clasped in thick bracelets as he extends his hand before him, a swirl of white light rotating above his palm. To his right and left, identical twins hold their hands clasped, a showering of sparks lighting their path, decadent in their dress and adornments with beads and golden disks woven around their crowns. They chime together, bells sworn into the hem of their long pants. A man and a woman make up the last two – opposite and standing far apart. Leaves and green fabric woven together to cover him, mouth pulled down in a scowl as he ignores the small fairy in his hair, the man looks unimpressed, smoothing a stray curl from his cheek. The woman lingers behind, lilac robe pulled close to her, a ribbon of rainbow lights across her dark forehead. 

The Alptraum are left speechless, frozen as the group comes to an abrupt halt, glowing and beautiful in the long hall. The contrast between the two is immense, one side rough and coiled tight, fear and anger tinging the air acidic. Splintered wood and glass still litter the floor, eyes gleaming from half shifting. Across from them, the other group stands in a swirl of multicolored light, appearing to have descended from the very heavens as they shimmer like a thousand stars. Magic fills the space around them, the thick scent of cinnamon and flora. 

“Mika! Jem!” Pietros whispers, standing on trembling legs from his chair. He shrugs off Duro’s helping hands, exclaiming something sharp and desperate in Pythonissan. 

“Pietros!” The twins call out together, identical looks of relief easing out their faces as they step forward, catching the man when Pietros runs into their arms. 

“What shit is this?” Duro exhales, lingering close to Agron’s arm. He’s surprised when Agron makes a soft noise, eyes still damp as he sags his shoulders. 

“They’re Nasir’s brothers.”

Agron remembers them, can still see them from that dream so long ago. The way their bodies had felt pressed to his, magic sharp and demanding, all of them seeming to have latched onto him in some way. They had roamed through his mind, had come to him over and over, tried to pry what they needed. Agron doesn’t know why, doesn’t need the details now. The one in the front Agron remembers most, the feeling of his smooth legs against Agron’s shoulders, his breath hot on his cheek as he had begged for Agron to tell him where he was, where he had gone. The memory is intimate, too poignant for who this man truly is. 

Easing his fingers over Pietros’ shoulder in greeting, the man in the front abruptly pushes his own cloak back, squaring his shoulders back. There is a thin silver chain dangling from his neck down in a line before circling his waist, a pretty adornment that sways as he marches across the floor until he’s close to Agron. His dark eyes trace over Agron’s face, something soft and soothing in the way the cold air seems to cling to him, fingers frosty as he gently touches Agron’s wrist. 

“We have traveled a very long distance to reach you, Wolf King.” The man’s fingers squeeze gently. “I am Lido, second born to Kallistos and consort to the High Seer of the North.”

“Agron,” Agron manages to say, fangs retreating a little under Lido’s careful touch. “King of Alptraum.”

 

Agron is dumbfounded by him. There is something overtly abstract about Lido, as if he exists beyond this world – crafted from ancient magic. It seems there are heavenly lights clinging to his crown, snow entwined with silver and white. He still shares features with Nasir, his dark hair and large eyes, the soft indent at the corner of his mouth when he smiles. 

“Your heart is very heavy, burdened with a terrible pain.” Lido murmurs, leaning into Agron’s space. He gently reaches forward, brushing a stray tear from Agron’s cheek. “We are here to help. I know what Caesar did to Nasir. There are ways to fix it, but you must let us work with him.”

“I trusted one of you before,” Agron shakes his head, bitterness around the words, “I allowed him to stay in our house, sleep in the same rooms, and he betrayed us. Poisoned Nasir and led the vampires here. All of this wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t let him stay.” 

“Ashur.” Lido hisses the word, cutting him off, “Is not of this family. He betrayed us long ago. There is little of that time that Nasir would have remembered though. He was very young.”

“Agron.” The twins approach, Pietros still trembling between them. There are tears on his face, brushing at them with the side of his hand. “We are running out of time.”

Mika crowds to his left as Jem takes up his right side, both of them lingering but not touching him. Agron remembers their strained smiles, hands in a still wave as Agron had pulled Nasir back up onto his horse, had held the then prince steady as they had separated. It seems as if a lifetime ago when Nasir had clung to Agron, cried for his brothers, his now foreverly changed life. 

“Please,” Pietros gently nudges into Lido, earnestly looking up at Agron. “Please, it is our only hope. Agron, they are powerful and we are stronger together. Once Nasir regains his strength-“

“Go to him.”

Agron steps back, clears himself from the medic’s doorway. He bumps Duro to the side as well, rolling his eyes at Duro’s gaping expression. It seems he and Tove both are already taken with the brothers, both of them staring in awe – mouths open. 

“Have faith, Agron.” 

Lido squeezes his wrist one last time before turning, pushing his way into the long, dark rooms. The twins follow, Pietros trailing close behind. The one covered in leaves, Kalmar as Agron’s guess, glances slowly over Agron, raising an eyebrow. He looks unimpressed, taking a deep considering inhale before slipping into the shadows as well. The woman lingers, shutting the door and pressing her bare shoulders back against it. 

She looks out of place, pretty and soft in her lilac coverings, with the same lights and magnificence that had filled the air around Lido. Her dark skin gleams against the white lights blinking against her, filling up her aura with a soft glow. There is a boldness about her though, staring defiant and proud against the curious gazes of the Alptraum.

“You must be exhausted from your journey. I am Naevia and this is Mira, head body guards to King Nasir.” Naevia and Mira step forward, both of them weary but kind. 

“Ariadne,” Ariadne bows her head slightly in greeting, “Assistant and high councilwoman of the Seers in the North.”

“Welcome to Alptraum.” Naevia smiles. “Would you like us to prepare a room for you and Lido? Perhaps something to eat?”

“Me and Lido?” The woman’s eyebrows raise nearly to her dark curls. “No. I will stay here incase my _lord_ needs me.”

Naevia glances at Mira, twin expressions of confusion before they turn back, Mira nodding. 

“Allow us to pull you up a chair then, and send for a blanket and food. I fear we are all going to be here a long time.”

The woman nods once, still untrusting but admitting to her own needs. She gratefully sinks into the plush chair when one of the servants brings it, taking the fur blanket to wrap around her shoulders as well. The others follow suite, some slinking down onto their places from before and others rearranging against one another.

Agron cannot settle though, stuck between wishing to pull his hair our and screaming. He paces the hall, fiddling with the engravings on his arm bands, tugging at the leather around his waist. He can’t hear anything within the rooms, cut off from being able to reach out and make sure Nasir is alright through their magic. It’s a thought that terrorizes him. What if Nasir isn’t whole when the brothers are done? Will he suffer more for this? Will Nasir be able to recover from the power and darkness currently consuming him?

Now more than ever Agron wishes things had been different. He wishes Isolde had succeeded in her plan and Agron had been king when Kallistos had come though their town. Would he have been able to court Nasir the proper Alptraum way? They could have spent months exploring the countryside, traipsing through old forests, exploring the wonders the mountains hold, falling into one another along the grassy plains in the south. 

Agron could have learned Nasir’s magic before being thrust into it, could have shown him the light he holds inside of himself. Agron’s loyalty, his courage, his heart would have won Nasir over instead of Gerulf’s tainted coins purchasing him. How would they be different if their love had grown sweet on the vine instead of ripe and heated, festering instantly through attachment born of fear? Agron knows it would have been a slow courting, a time full of roses pressed in between pages of books and messages delivered in the night. He would have held Nasir’s face the very first time, could have felt the tremble go through Nasir’s skin when they had kissed. The thousand kisses that followed becoming deeper and sweeter each time.

Agron cannot help feeling this way, of longing for a time when he could have held Malik in his arms and not worried what sort of destruction his son will cause. Agron wanted so much for them – all three of them – to live and grow together in Alptra. He saw long walks through the castle gardens, meals spent on a terrace – laughter and songs. Of teaching his son to hold a sword while Nasir had stood nearby, correcting his form. The little dreams that Agron had spun late at night when Nasir and Malik had rested against him seem so far now. 

He ends of retreating to go see Malik, checking on him under Melitta and Apep’s watchful gaze. Neither of them say anything when Agron scoops him, cradles him in the fold of his arm and has to coax him to take the bottle. Malik stares up at Agron with clear eyes, the green glimmering in the familiar way Agron’s does. He listens contently when Agron sings to him, a lullaby half in Alptraum and half in Pythonissan – some weaving tale about a river and the night sky. Only when Malik is asleep again does Agron retreat downstairs to the medic’s hall. 

Hour is late, the far corner of the sky hinting at the lightest of blue, when Agron finally leans back against the wall opposite the medic’s hall and waits. His body is sore, painful in ways he hasn’t felt in a long time, head throbbing. He knows he should eat soon, should at least drink something, but he cannot erase the image of Nasir’s red eyes from behind his own, of the way he had tasted so sweet, magic thrumming through Agron with a mantra of _more, more, more_. 

A soft click alerts him to the door being open, Lido slipping out. He’s removed his cloak, hands streaked in black and red. He presses a bowl into Spartacus’ hands, leaning in to hiss instructions to him about destroying the tar within it before turning back to Agron. He looks younger without his adornments, silver pain streaked a little in places, hair frizzy. Agron can see more of Nasir in him now – the crease of his hip and his brow, the way he cocks his head when he gently takes Agron’s hands in his own. It seems that Lido’s magic feeds off physical contact – a sudden soothing cool easing through Agron’s nerves. 

"He is very weak," Lido begins, being careful to keep his voice soft as to not wake the others. "We managed to drain most of the venom from him, but it will be a while until he feels back to full strength. Some of it will have to fade over time."

"But he's okay? He will be okay?" Agron asks, glancing behind Lido's head to the hall behind him. 

"It will take time, but for now he is resting." Lido nods, still frowning. "He called for you when it was nearly finished. I think it would offer him a great comfort if you came to see him. He needs to sleep, but feeling your magic in the room may help."

Agron does not need to be told again, releasing himself from Lido's hold and quickly entering the hall. The space feels different than before, the thick scent of incense and fresh air filling him up. The glow of candles fills the room, turning it warm and bronze. They've stripped the bed, the mattress bare with Nasir nestled between the twins, Kalmar pressed against Jem's back, eyes open and watching closely. It paints a lovely portrait, the similarities and differences between the brothers – tan skin and jewels mixing with the sharp crackle of ancient magic. It is decadent in its overwhelming beauty and power. 

Agron keeps his emotions in check, stays calm and kneels down against Mika, reaching over delicately to brush a stray hair from Nasir's smooth cheek. There is some color back in his face, mouth not pulled down in such a cruel snarl anymore. Agron wants nothing more than to cradle him in his arms, to feel his heartbeat and breath under Agron’s palm. Nasir seems to be lost in sleep, but his eyelashes flutter from the touch, slowly peeking open with a weak smile spreading over his face.

Agron wants to say something, find words that are reassuring or strong, but everything fades to the edges when he watches Nasir's dark eyes stare up at him. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes with a bruise covering his cheek. Agron touches the side of Nasir's mouth, smiles tight lipped and weak, too relieved to try any harder than this. 

_Still with me?_ Nasir's voice, soft and faint in Alptraum in the very edges of his mind whispers against the tips of Agron's magic. 

"Yes." 

Agron exhales, chest constricting. He won't show Nasir the terror he's felt though, the absolute agony of having Nasir here but so far away, of feeling him slipping away. Instead, he leans forehead, kisses Nasir's forehead. 

"Yes, of course I am."


End file.
